JFK Remembered

A remeberance of John F Kennedy on the anniversary of his assassination  November 22, 1963 (an encore posting)

 

It was Tuesday, May 16, 1961, a day many of us had been working towards for weeks. As was the practice those days, the Government Hospitality Committee was responsible for all VIP visits and the Canadian Army's Directorate of Public Relations provided the technical media coordination.

Earlier in the month three of us, plus the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, met with the White House advance party to plan President Kennedy's two day state visit to Canada, his first presidential visit to a foreign country. The ever-cigar-smoking Pierre Salinger, JFK's press secretary, was there but soon turned over media responsibility to his deputy.

Media arrangements for covering VIP visits to Canada were generally somewhat casual. The working press trusted us to get them to where they needed to be, providing them with necessary background materials, and when necessary, arranging pool coverage of more intimate or somewhat restricted events. RCMP presence was more to keep amateurs away from the working press than to "police" the media. It was all quite calm and refined. The arrival of the White House Press Corps came as a shock!

The presidential arrival was to take place at Ottawa's Royal Canadian Air Force Station Uplands. We had anticipated two or three photographers' locations to catch JFK and Jacqueline arriving on Canadian soil. Not good enough, said the White House press, we need a camera truck at each end of the runway. Why? Well, you never know if Air Force One will crash and we need that picture.

And that same sort of aggressive approach continued on for most of the two days, diminishing somewhat as they learned to trust what we were doing, and that we were doing it for them. It seemed as though their experience was, for the most part, confrontational rather than collaborative.

The arrival went as planned, if not two hours late. A state visit, Governor General Georges Vanier and Madame Vanier first greeted the American couple. Then Prime Minister George Diefenbaker and Mrs. Diefenbaker.

The party then moved inside the RCAF hanger for the official welcoming speeches, a moment when JFK won the hearts of all Canada when, following the Prime Minister's greeting first in English and then French, President Kennedy responded.

He explained that he had planned to reply in English and then ask his wife to respond in French, but after hearing the prime minister's fractured French, he had no hesitation in using his own French-speaking skill! A politician from the Manitoba prairies, the Prime Minister's French was always painful and the butt of much late night Canadian humor.

And when on the final day of the visit, addressing the Canadian Parliament, President Kennedy, uttered his famous aphorism, "Geography has made us neighbours; history has made us friends," 

Canada swooned!

Before he retired his commission, the writer of "Aft Deck Musings . . . ", was the news editor for the Canadian Army's Directorate of Public Relations and responsible for national media coordination of VIP visits. Mike was inducted as an Honorary Life Member of the National Press Corps of Canada on his retirement.

Veterans' Day and the Election

Veterans’ Day, November 11^th, has passed (except for the those great sales you just can’t afford to miss), and most every year I post a blog observing the day. This year was different. The election three days prior had a severe numbing affect, putting everything in abeyance while I tried to sort out not only the results, but more importantly the meaning of it to us as a nation.

Back to November 11^th. Veterans’ Day was a re-naming in 1954 of Armistice Day, and its focus moved from remembering those who had died in battle to a recognition of all military veterans. (Memorial Day, originally a day set aside to decorate the graves of the Union war dead, eventually extended to honor all Americans who dies while in military service.) In Canada, and much of the British Commonwealth, Armistice Day was renamed Remembrance Day, but still keeping the theme remembering those who had died in battle.

Since my 15-years of military service was in Canada, my natural bias is to observe the 11^th as Remembrance Day, and so I do.

Soldiering is an honorable profession. We considered ourselves professionals (just like teachers, firefighters, nurses, police). We asked for no special honors or recognition, only that we be treated with respect. If we had privilege, it is only that we represented the Crown (Canada) or the State (USA).

And when in times of conflict, some died, and their deaths honored by the people for their service. Hence, Remembrance Day, for it was at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month that the fighting ended WW I, and the people paused to remember their dead.

And the dead were honored for why they died. Soldiers were, and probably still are, not interested in the finer points of citizenship, or political stances and nuances. Rough, and at times exemplifying bravado. Yet, somehow, within the heart and mind of the soldier was the deeper notion of rightness and just cause that empowered them into battle, and, for some, into their death.

Reflecting on the election in light of the sacrifice of over 623,400 US troops who died during the two world wars, Korea, Viet Nam, and Afghanistan and Iraq is sobering. Their notion of rightness and justice simply clashes like a teutonic earthquake with the rhetoric, and by extension the deep values expressed, of the now president-elect.

Let me back off here for a moment. There is no question that as a nation there has been growing a deep frustration for a great, great many around what life and work and value was hoped for, was what could be, but simply was not. Powers, be they elites or politicians or “government”, were just not hearing them, just not dealing with their issues and challenges, in effect not respecting them as members of this nation, of their life, of their work, of their hopes and dreams. They felt disenfranchised, ignored. Much of this alienation and separation was between the perceived world of the rural and that of the city, but not entirely. Historians, sociologists, and political scientists, and others will in the days and years ahead parse why and how this great upheaval in the nation manifested itself in the election result.

And out of this there emerged a champion. History is complete with champions who emerge and coalesce those who hurt economically and socially, those who see no answer until someone comes forward with the promise of change, real and lasting change, a returning to a time before the hurt. And listeners become followers and followers become disciples. And so a Donald Trump emerges, making promises, tapping into the frustrations, and naming the causes of the hurt.

Yet in this championing, the champion brings both his own value-system as well as his own history, folding much of these into his message of salvation. What finally emerges is a champion who purports business acumen, whose behavior is sociopathic; who is a blatant liar (even when truth is clearly there for the seeing); who sees women as man-toys, objects; who bullies those who oppose him; and most glaring of all, targets ethnic and racial minorities while at the same time condones (even encouraging?) white supremacy, plus a strong leaning towards fascism. A dark side of our nation is brought out of the shadows and even celebrated.

And a hungry following, hungry for change and hope, somehow look past their champion’s character in hopes that there will be that new world promised for them.

And those we honor on Armistice Day, Remembrance Day, Memorial Day lie in their graves, shrouded with their notions of rightness and justice and cause.

And the peoples march and protest, not as election losers (and certainly not paid ‘professionals’), but calling this nation to its better self; free of bigotry and misogyny; a nation of many nationalities, cultures, and faiths; caring for the poor, the vulnerable, the refugee and the homeless; a nation of justice; and decrying the ugly violence and hate and racism, born and given breath from the champion’s campaign that now infects, breaking the heart of this land The protest and marches are, at their best, noble expressions of outrage.

[Also see Rod Scher’s Geekly Weekly blog, "The World Gets Smaller. And Flatter. And Angrier"]

Liel Leibovitz, a senior writer for Tablet Magazine, reflecting on the life of his grandfather in Nazi Germany, puts forth three ‘commandments.’ First, treat every poisoned word as promise, taking the haters at their word, and assume the worst is imminent. Second, treat people as adults, demanding that they understand the consequences of their actions. And third, and the hardest to grasp: Refuse to accept what’s going on as the new normal. Not now. Not ever. [read the full article here] 

At one time, on every November 11th, soldiers and civilians alike wore red poppies, a reminder of those who were killed, drawing from that immortal poem written by the Canadian physician Lt.Col John McCrae in Ypres in 1915.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

Last week also saw the death of Canadian songwriter and poet, Leonard Cohen, who recited that stirring poem last year in a moving tribute to McCrae.

OO RHA and Rum

Nights were more than cold in Korea, especially in the windy, wet, snowy months of winter. During 1954-55 the United Nations forces and the Republic of Korean army were lined up along the Injim River, which generally marked the Demilitarized Zone. On the more western edge of this DMZ were the 3/5 Marines (3rd battalion, 5th regiment, 1st Marine Division). On the right, one of many ROK (Republic of Korea) divisions. Between them was the 25th Canadian Infantry Brigade, with the 2nd Battalion Black Watch out in front, part of the 1st Commonwealth Division

[The Canadian involvement, as with some of the other Commonwealth contingents, was not

considered “an engagement in combat”, rather was a “police action”.  Hence no campaign ribbons issued, although the United Nations did.  Many years later the Canadian government did issue a Korea Medal.]

  

Along the Injim River troops patrolled nightly in the dark and bitter cold along the DMZ. Patrols were usually only a dozen men patrolling a small, specific section on the Allied side of the DMZ. A normal routine was to meet up, at a proscribed time and place, with another patrol at the ends of the route. And so men from the Marine’s 3/5 would make contact with their neighbors from the 2nd BW.

Patrols, generally, were not exactly popular assignments. But one particular patrol, at  

least for the Marines, was popular, perhaps even coveted. Hey, if I have to go out on a    cold, rainy and snowy night, with the wind cutting through me, this is the patrol I want to be on. This was the patrol that made contact with the Canadians.

Why so different this patrol?

Rum.

Now all US troops in Korea were absolutely dry. No beer, no liquor; Coke, Pepsi, or root beer didn't really cut it.

However, the Canadians were different. Before heading out for the night, the patrol commander, usually a sergeant or lieutenant, would draw a ration of rum from the battalion quartermaster-sergeant, two-ounces of SRD ("standard rum diluted") for each man. Often the QMS would add some more, "just in case needed." Midway through the night's patrol, to give that extra stimulus for the return home, the rum issued out by the patrol commander to each soldier gave that added warmth, sense of comfort, to help carry one back for that last leg on the trail.

So if you were a Marine on a contact patrol meeting up with the Canadians, you knew that you were in for a treat - - a shot of straight rum!

Further more, the men and sergeants and officers of the 3/5 became good friends and  

comrades with the Canadian Black Watch, welcomed in the highlander's men's wet canteen (beer, usually Molson's)*, and sergeants' mess and officers' mess (full bars and cheap drinks - - think diplomatic priced non-taxed drinks). Reciprocity saw lots of Canadian jocks sporting USMC gear and Marines taking home some highland kit. There was one instance when a young Canadian officer traded a case of single-malt scotch ($9 a bottle) with a senior Marine Corps officer for a jeep, which he drove as his own private vehicle for almost three months before being stopped by a MP.    

Beyond this the Canadians had high regard for the Marines. Of all the US forces, the Marines with their navy background shared much the same professional approaches and traditions and values as the Canadians. The two spoke much the same language (but perhaps with differing accents).

There were duty exchanges between officers of the 3/5 and the 2nd BW. And two highland officers went as observers to a Marine landing exercise on Korea's east coastline.

Tomorrow, Thursday, November 10th, the United States Marine Corps celebrates its 241st birthday. So, congratulations to a fine body of men (and now women), and may you continue your great legacy, Semper fidelis, Semper fi

And to you all, a roaring OO RAH!

* Canadian Senator Hartland Molson, owner of the brewery of the same name, was colonel-in-chief of the Black Watch regiment. Every month a shipment of beer was shipped to the Black Watch by the brewery.